Delilah

You laugh like Camus, but it’s not the heat, deserts delight you, you’d say that fools, always miss the beat, when looking at ruins, you are like an almond, brown and seventeen, before the sun and wind, will you sail away, like their leaves, when autumn scrapes, over poverty yellow and grey, hurt dreams, Spring returns on hot days, inside you hum a tune, turn your head serene, ignore the blues, your spirit runs deep.